Life is 10 percent what happens to you

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I shrink from writing anything ‘inspirational’. I am nobody to tell someone else what to do, or to try to inspire anyone. And I know it. When someone I respect says something I think is important, I try to apply it to myself.

While he was being interviewed, Lou Holtz, the great Notre Dame Football Coach, said, ‘Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you react.’ I think what Lou Holtz meant was when important events happen; a bad accident, death of someone you love, or any major catastrophe; how you and I react to that occurrence determines our quality of life afterward.

I offer an example. A few days ago, the doctors at the Veteran’s Administration Hospital, in San Francisco, looked at my insides with a camera. That was because they thought they saw something earlier, during an MRI (Magnetic Resolution Inspection).

You can guess how I felt. Whatever it was the doctor saw, if it really was there, it was unlikely that anomaly would be something I wanted or needed. To make it worse, and what I imagined might be wrong with me, I had a suspicious pain in my left kidney right where the doctors suspected a problem.

As you might have guessed, my imagination went off the rails. I do not fear death but I am reluctant to end my existence before I do all I wish to do… for myself and for others. That night, instead of going right to sleep, as I always do, I lay awake staring at the ceiling. After a while, talking to myself like a Dutch Uncle, I convinced me the only job I had right then was to get a good night’s sleep and be well-rested so I would be better able to handle any problem that might come my way. I must have done a good job convincing me, because, almost at once I drifted off to sleep.

Next day I got ready. I cleaned up all my tail-end of unfinished writing projects, paid my bills, put my files in order, changed the bed sheets and pillow cases, washed the dishes, put my dirty clothes into the washing machine, phoned my brother, my sister and my children, and I listened, while they told me everything they were doing and how they were. I went to the Iron Worker Gym to exercise, I started some new writing, finished painting a part of an old oil portrait of my wife, Jeannette, that needed some work, and cleaned up all the many small chores, which I had put off doing.

With everything in apple pie order, I was ready for whatever the doctors told me. My phone rang about two that afternoon. It was from the VA doctor. It turned out, despite my fears, and what the doctors expected might have been a problem, the tests showed nothing bad was on the x-ray. I was still as fine as frog’s hair in all departments.

Not only did the call make me feel good, I was, magically, seven miles, and a dozen bushels ahead of all my chores just because of all I did beforehand. If the report had been bad, I would still have been more able to handle whatever was dished out to me because I forged ahead in spite of my fears.

What Coach Lou Holtz, and others, taught me is true. The Moment must not define us. It is always best to face your fears head-on. I must always do my best to be ready to handle the worst that might happen, but always expect the best.

Armed with this wonderful new rule, the only one to whom I have anything to teach is my good cat, Cleo. And she doesn’t listen.